The Hiccup
by volley
Summary: Malcolm gets a bad case of hiccups
1. Chapter 1

Here is a silly humour story, just for a change from all the angst.

I used this sign -- to indicate hiccupping. I had a much better one, but sadly it gets cancelled when I submit my document.

Thank you to SitaZ and RoaringMice, for their fine beta reading.

111

Malcolm had a feeling the day was going to be a 'lovely' one the moment he was woken up by a page, instead of his alarm clock...

"Ensign Sato to Lieutenant Reed..."

…although he had to admit that waking up to the sound of Hoshi's gently probing voice certainly beat the _ghastly_ blare of his...

…'_Probing'_? _Blimey! _

His eyes flashed open and landed on the clock, painstakingly placed in the direct path of his sight when lying in bed in his favourite position.

He jumped out of his skin and bed, and hurled himself onto the comm. link.

"Reed." _Good grief, a frog with laryngitis._

"Lieutenant," Hoshi's voice floated back. "Is everything all right? You should've been on the bridge fifteen minutes ago..."

He cleared his throat. "Uhm, no… yes! Overslept, be there in a jiffy, Reed out."

_Right. Late. Bloody late. Priorities_.

_Shower?_ _Negative._ _Rely on T'Pol's nasal stuff and a fresh uniform_.

He grabbed his black shirt and thrust his arms into the sleeves.

He moved towards the loo hopping into the first leg of his jumpsuit; dragging the rest of it along he entered the small bathroom, reviewing in his mind what parts of his daily ablutions he could absolutely _not_ forego.

_Shave. Definitely. Honour of the Reeds, officer-at-his-best…_ Letting go of his uniform he reached for the shaving cream and razor – old style was still the best – and got rid of his facial hair in record time, inflicting himself more cuts than if he had duelled to the death with Shran. Cursing, he grabbed the stick to cauterize them. One nasty little cut just below his left ear wouldn't stop bleeding so he temporarily stuck a tiny piece of toilet paper on it.

_Hair. … Always well-groomed, blah, blah. _He got the comb and raked his hair into an acceptable shape with one hand while with the other he battled with the buttons of his black shirt.

_Teeth?_ _Uhm, won't smile. Not difficult._

He hopped into the second leg of his uniform – risking beginning his day in sickbay with a concussion – and, pulling on the sleeves of said garment, he zipped it up in one resolute move and glanced at himself in the mirror, pretending to like what he saw. Well, Trip had showed up enough times on the bridge looking like a chimney-sweeper from Mary Poppins; this was more than acceptable, he reassured himself even as his face twisted in a grimace of disgust.

He was about to sprint out of his quarters when a cavernous grumble erupted from his stomach.

_Breakfast… _The grimace turned into one of annoyance. Damn, he hated to start the day without breakfast. Take anything away from him, sleep, coffee, tea, lunch, movie night, explosions, _well… delete that_, but not breakfast; his body just required a hearty breakfast in the morning. British style.

_Serves you right_, _you nitwit, _he scolded himself, _next time you'll go to sleep at a decent time instead of racking your brain till the wee hours on your brilliant may-never-work ideas._

As he rushed by the desk on his way to the door his eyes fell on a few left-over biscuits from the night before, and he grabbed them without stopping, stuffing two into his mouth. _Bloody hell, they are dry!_ He took a couple of fast steps backwards, reached for the half-empty cup of cold coffee and, wincing at the thought of drinking the stale liquid, took a sip to help push the lump down his throat. _Good heavens! What have they turned into, quick cement?_ He replaced the other biscuits on the plate and, cringing, took another, bigger gulp of the awful fluid, swallowing hard. Returning the cup to his desk he rushed out of the door, checking his watch.

_Just over five minutes, got to be my personal rec -- _

_Oh -- damn! _

_Fan -- bloody -- tastic! _

As if his day weren't complete – hiccups.

* * *

"Ah, Lieutenant Reed. I take it you had a good rest?" Captain Archer subtly asked, swivelling in his chair at the sound of the turbo-lift door opening.

He schooled his features perfectly straight, hoping his eyes would not betray the amusement he felt. Teasing Reed was one of the pleasures of life aboard Enterprise, he had to agree with Trip. He just couldn't forego this rare opportunity when the perfect Lieutenant was proving to be human and flawed like the rest of them.

"Uhm yes, Sir," Reed answered snapping to attention a couple of steps inside the bridge.

Archer saw T'Pol's nose twitch and Reed's eyes shift uncomfortably to her for a brief moment.

"I apo--logise for reporting late for duty, Captain," Malcolm added, instantly turning an interesting shade of cardinal red at the _hic_ that escaped him. "I seem to not have hea-- heard the alarm clock."

The entire bridge crew stopped working and turned as one to the hiccupping man, who briefly shifted his gaze to the floor before returning it to his captain.

Feeling his mouth perilously close to curving into a smile Archer clenched his jaw, belatedly realising what his lieutenant would make of that. Reed became petrified. He turned his eyes straight ahead and… The Captain frowned. Was Malcolm holding his breath? _I know the man likes explosions but… _Looking more closely at this less-than-pristine version of his Armoury Officer, Archer squinted as he tried to identify something that had caught his attention: was that toilet paper stuck near Malcolm's left ear?

With a Herculean effort Archer stifled a chuckle and, taking pity on the tense officer before him, nodded and said, "You may take your station, Lieutenant."

Reed actually deflated without noise, an impressive feat after holding your breath for so long. As the lieutenant moved to gain his console, Archer unobtrusively looked around at the rest of the bridge crew. He loved to notice the subtle forms of communication that went on between them. By now he was quite attuned to them. He saw T'Pol's nose twitch again as she turned to her console, and Hoshi exchange a furtive glance with Travis; you just had to watch Hoshi's mouth and Travis's eyes to know what they were thinking.

Reed sat down and immediately became absorbed in his job – that is, as absorbed as Trip's nearby presence allowed him to be. The engineer, present for one of his rare bridge duty appearances, was like an open book, and Archer could tell that Trip thought that Malcolm was in for some nasty teasing. _Strange that Trip hasn't actually ribbed him yet._

Pretending to read a padd, the Captain turned slightly in his chair and unobtrusively studied the pair of them. Trip deliberately let his stare linger on his friend until Malcolm felt he could no longer ignore it and met it with an exasperated glare. Rancorous-Reed eyes glowered at twinkling-Tucker ones; a wry smirk briefly duelled with a mocking smile; a deep scowl triggered a pair of blond eyebrows to rise. Archer cleared his throat and grinned inwardly when both heads immediately jerked back to the work in front of them.

The bridge was silent, save for the odd beep of instruments and regularly-spaced choked sounds coming from tactical, but the air was charged with unreleased tension. At least for once it was a 'holding-my-laugh' sort of tension, Archer consoled himself.

Twenty minutes later the Armoury Officer was still jerking under the force of his hiccups, and if it went on for much longer Archer felt quite sure it would end up damaging his peripheral vision for good; he had a duty to take action in order to preserve it. Perhaps he should send Reed to sickbay. Then he noticed that Trip's grin was back with a vengeance, and a nagging suspicion crawled and burrowed itself into his grey matter. Perhaps, actually, he should have a private word with Malcolm.

"Lieutenant." He got up from his chair and made for the ready room.

Out of the corner of his eye Archer could see the familiar sight of Malcolm tilting his head to one side and easing himself out of his seat, his usual fluid movements marred by the umpteenth jolt. Reed shot another annoyed look in the direction of Trip's mirthful face and joined the Captain.

As soon as the door had closed, giving them privacy, Archer turned to the lieutenant. "Malcolm, uhm, are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, -- Sir."

Reed was standing rigidly at attention, as if this alone could stop his hiccupping.

"Let me apologise again for my tardiness, Captain," he managed to say in one uninterrupted breath. "I got absorbed in a pro--ject last night and lost track of time. It w -- won't happen again," he concluded with a self-conscious grimace.

Archer regarded his lieutenant with narrowed eyes. "That project…" he let his voice trail. "It didn't involve by any chance Trip and calculating the best trajectory for emptying strong, golden liquid down your throats without spilling any, did it?" he asked suspiciously.

Reed's eyes widened slightly and his mouth twitched down into a frown for the briefest of moments before he answered, a touch of outrage in his voice, "No, Sir. I assure you."

Archer kept Malcolm under his silent scrutiny for a moment longer, and saw him fret.

After jerking a couple of more times the Armoury Officer added resolutely, "I am not int -- toxicated, Captain."

"Perhaps you should visit sickbay," Archer suggested.

"Sir, is it really necessary?" Malcolm asked in a quiet but clearly annoyed tone of voice. "I'm sure this hic--cupping will stop soon."

Archer wavered – everybody knew how incompatible Reed and sickbay were. Eventually he sighed and yielded. "All right, Lieutenant," he conceded. "I guess we'll give it a chance to go away on its own. You may return to your station."

Reed nodded and turned to leave but then suddenly stopped, as if struck by a thought. He turned again and cleared his throat. "Captain," he asked hesitantly. "May I be excused from th-- the bridge? The targeting sensors need to be realigned."

Archer suspected that Malcolm was finding an excuse to go hide himself in the Armoury, where at least he was in charge and could make his men ignore him with but one of his commanding glares. But he couldn't deny that he relished the thought of a quiet bridge, without strangling sounds and bouncing movements.

"Of course," he replied with a full smile. "Wouldn't want those little devils to be off just when we need them."

Reed relaxed his face in a small grin, nodded and turned once again to leave. "Ah, Lieutenant…" Archer added, making him snap back to attention. The Captain waved a finger in the direction of his own face. "You might want to remove that piece of… tissue from your face."

Reed froze and shifted his eyes to the left side. "Aye, Sir," he choked out, quickly bringing his hand to his jaw and finding the offending piece of slightly bloodied paper. "Thank -- you, Captain," he added tautly.

"No problem," Archer said, disguising a chuckle under a fit of cough. "Dismissed."

TBC

A little review is always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

222

Trip entered the Armoury and glanced around. The man was nowhere to be seen. He took a few steps inside Mal's spotless domain, and Ensign Müller immediately turned away from his job and came to meet him.

"Commander," he said. "How may I help you?"

Trip scratched his neck and grinned. "Any explosions in the Armoury this morning, Ensign?" he asked with a mischievous look.

Müller was too much Malcolm's SIC to betray his feelings, but Trip thought he saw a flash of amusement cross his eyes as he replied matter-of-factly, "Are you referring to Lieutenant Reed, Commander?"

Trip decided the question was perfunctory and didn't need an answer or comment. "Where is he?" he instead enquired.

"The Lieutenant is doing maintenance to the starboard phase cannon," Müller said, his eyes shifting to the access hatch laying against the bulkhead a few metres away. "We… haven't seen much of him, actually."

"I see," Trip said pensively. _Mal ran into hiding. _"Think it's safe to dig him out?" he asked smiling and raising his eyebrows.

"Well, Sir…" Müller faltered.

Trip realised the man didn't feel comfortable joking about his CO, so he hastened to add, "Sorry, you don't have to answer that, Ensign." He patted Müller playfully on the shoulder. "Go back to your weapons systems, I'll find out on my own."

Malcolm's SIC nodded and made to leave; but then with a hesitant smirk turned and said, "At least he's not armed, Commander."

Trip chuckled and gave him the thumbs-up. He walked to the open hatch and peeked inside the cannon's housing. Malcolm's compact form was crouched near the weapon, busy checking something.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Trip greeted him cheerfully as he climbed down the few rungs to join him. "Still awake?"

Malcolm half turned to acknowledge him, muttering an indistinct sound. Then he turned back to his work. In the restricted space the air was warm and stale, and as he got closer Trip became aware of just how dishevelled and sweaty Malcolm was.

"Gee, Malcom! I think I'm gonna borrow some of T'Pol's nasal numbin' agent," he joked.

Malcolm scowled at him. "If you have come to pe-- pester me, I suggest you keep at a safe distance. I'm not in the m-- mood, right now," he grunted.

Trip's smile quickly disappeared from his face. "You still hiccuppin'?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Malcolm growled back, "I still 'hiccuppin'."

Trip studied the cursing bundle of nerves crouched before him and made a fast mental calculation.

"It's been – what – more than four hours," he said.

"Four hours, an odd bunch minutes and an -- even bunch of seconds," Malcolm testily answered over his shoulder. He stood up and turned to face him. "Have you co-- come for a specific reason? Because if you are h-- here only to have a bit of fun behind my back I strongly ad-- advise you to change your plans," he said confrontationally.

Trip paused and looked at him without blinking. He _had_ come to tease his friend, but now all that was forgotten.

"Come on," he replied, grabbing Reed by an arm. "I'm takin' you to sickbay."

Malcolm pulled back with a snort. "I'm not going to sickbay for a bleeding hiccup," he said with conviction. "Don't even th-- think of it." He dropped down on his haunches again and resumed working.

Trip huffed in frustration. "I'll make it an order if I have to, Lieutenant," he threatened.

Malcolm immediately bounced back up, and Trip found himself looking straight into the incensed blue-grey eyes of a pissed-off Armoury Officer.

"You wouldn't dare," said Officer ground out in his darkest voice.

"I would too," Trip answered unwaveringly.

They scowled at each other for a long moment, but then another strangled gasping sound escaped from Reed's throat and Trip found it impossible to keep a straight face: mad and hiccupping just didn't blend well on Malcolm's face – well, on anyone's face. Trip's mouth twitched into a grin and he saw his friend's eyes track down to it. Malcolm's own facial muscles contracted in the effort to keep serious. They both snorted.

"Come on," Trip said in a soothing voice. "Let Phlox take a look at you."

Malcolm shook his head. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but there is pre--ciously little the Doctor can do. The hiccup is an involuntary spa-- spasm of the diaphragm. I just have to be patient and wait, and it will go away on its own," he replied flatly.

"But you don't know what Phlox could do," Trip insisted. "Maybe Denobulans have found a remedy for it."

"For all we know Denobulans don't even _have_ a diaphragm," Malcolm retorted, crouching again to tend to his job. "As for what Phlox mi-- might do, I really don't want to find out," he added meaningfully.

"Damn, but you're stubborn!" Trip exploded.

Malcolm shot the engineer a frustrated look. "Bloody hell! What is a poor bloke t-- to do to be able to work in peace?" he snapped back.

Their bickering was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. They both turned to the open hatch, and saw it was framing Müller's upper body.

"Lieutenant, Captain Archer is paging you," he said.

"Oh, damn." Malcolm cursed under his breath and got up. "Thank you, Ensign," he told his SIC as he made for the ladder to exit the cannon housing. "I sup--pose the Captain will want me to report back to the bridge," he murmured to Trip who was following him.

As soon as he was back in the Armoury Malcolm crossed to the nearest comm. link.

"Reed."

"Lieutenant, have you finished realigning the targeting scanners?" Archer's voice sounded more curious than anything else.

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm replied.

"Then what is detaining you?"

"I got sidetracked doing main-- maintenance on the starboard cannon, Sir," Malcolm replied, hoping the hiccup had not carried too clearly through the comm. link. There was a small pause.

"Malcolm… are you still hiccupping?" Archer's asked, clearly surprised.

_No such luck, of course_. Reed grimaced. "It's nothing, Cap--tain, it will pass," he answered, dreading what he knew would be coming.

"I'm quite sure it will," Archer said. "But in the meantime please report to sickbay, Lieutenant," he added in a deceivingly mellifluous tone.

"S-- Sir," Malcolm began to protest.

"That's an order, Lieutenant," Archer cut in resolutely.

"Aye, Sir. Reed out."

Malcolm turned to Trip, who was looking on with, to his credit, understanding in his blue eyes. "Feel like walking with -- me to sickbay?" he asked with a sigh. "I could use the company."

* * *

"A hiccup is an involuntary spasm of the diaphragm, Lieutenant," Phlox said. "The sudden rush of air into the lungs causes the glottis to close, creating the _hic_ noise," he went on to explain as he passed his tricorder over Reed.

Malcolm exchanged a 'lecture-time' glance with Trip.

"A bout of hiccups generally resolves by itself," the Doctor said, and Reed's expression changed to one of 'I-told-you-so'.

"It's uncommon for it to last more than a few minutes," Phlox continued thoughtfully, studying his readings. "Although I think I read somewhere that someone on Earth hiccupped uninterruptedly for as long as 68 years," he added with a chuckle.

Reed winced and groaned. Trip's eyes went wide. "Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, not to worry," Phlox cheerfully added. "I am quite certain Lieutenant Reed is not likely to challenge that poor fellow's record."

In the silence that fell, Malcolm's regularly-spaced gasps sounded even louder.

"Hmm," the doctor said after a moment. "You are in perfect health, Mr. Reed. Any idea of what might have triggered the attack?"

Malcolm lowered his gaze to the floor. "I ate… a bit too fast this morning," he mumbled.

Trip chuckled. "Late for breakfast, uh?" he teased.

"I ov-- overslept and gulped down a couple of biscuits left over from the -- night before," Malcolm explained, and his dejected tone made Trip immediately regret his ribbing.

"Doc, can't you do anythin' to make it pass?" the engineer asked. "It's been more than five hours now."

"Let's try an anti-spasmodic," Phlox said, and he disappeared in search of the right hypospray.

Trip studied the slumping form sitting on the biobed in front of him. "Told you Phlox would have somethin' for you," he offered with a comforting smile.

Malcolm sighed. "Yes, well, thank God that 'someth-- thing' is not alive."

"Here," the Denobulan said, emptying the anti-spasmodic into Malcolm's neck. "In the meantime, feel free to try also some of the many home remedies, Lieutenant," he added, chuckling. "You know, holding your breath, drinking upside-down…"

Reed grunted.

"Well, if the hiccup persists we can try sedatives," Phlox said. "But effective treatment often requires a dose that either renders the person unconscious or highly lethargic, so I'd rather wait a little while longer before resorting to that."

Reed cringed. That's all he needed, being knocked unconscious for a bloody hiccup. "Thanks but no than-- anks," he said resolutely, hopping off the biobed. "I'm sure that stuff you gave me will do the tr-- trick." He strutted towards the doors with Tucker in tow. "Thank you, Doctor," he called over his shoulder, reaching for the command to trigger them open.

"If it doesn't pass, come back to see me," Phlox shouted back as the doors were closing again.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

333

"Ok, guys. I checked the database and there are quite a few interesting things to learn on the subject of 'hiccups'," Hoshi said to Travis and Trip as the three of them were having lunch in the mess hall.

Phlox's injection didn't seem to have had any effect, and with Archer's permission Malcolm had buried himself alive again – this time inside the _port_ cannon housing. Trip had decided to enlist Hoshi's and Travis's assistance to try and find a way to help the Armoury Officer.

"Really? Like what?" Travis asked, suddenly distracted from the huge sandwich he held hovering in front of his mouth.

"Let me skip the medical mumbo jumbo. What's interesting for us are all the so-called 'home remedies'; there are quite a few," Hoshi explained.

"Such as?" Trip enquired, raising his eyes from his meatloaf, and lifting his eyebrows.

"There are different types of things one can try." Hoshi produced a padd. and turned it on. She began to read. "Psychosomatic: distraction from one's hiccup (e.g. being startled or asked a perplexing question); concentration on one's hiccup. Swallowing: swallowing three times while holding one's breath; eating particular foods, such as peanut butter, chocolate, sugar or honey; inserting one's thumbs in one's ears, closing one's nose with one's index fingers, and drinking a glass of water…"

A loud snort interrupted her, and raising her eyes Hoshi saw that Trip was trying hard not to explode into laughter with coffee in his mouth.

"Commander…," she scolded him while trying to keep her own face straight.

"Sorry," Trip replied after gulping down the liquid, rubbing his face hard to try and smooth it out into a composed expression. An impossible feat, apparently: a second later he roared, echoed by Travis, and Hoshi soon found herself dragged into hysterical giggling.

It was a while before they had managed to calm down.

"I have to admit, the image of Malcolm with thumbs in his ears is hilarious," she conceded, after she had regained her breath.

"_Awmygawd_, my facial muscles hurt so much from laughing," Travis butted in, still struggling to regain his composure. "Please tell me that the rest of these 'home remedies' are not as funny."

"Well, I can't promise you that," Hoshi replied. "Let's see, there is drinking a glass of water through a napkin placed over the glass…"

Travis shook his head and broke into another wide smile.

"…Drinking a glass of water in several small sips," Hoshi went on, ignoring him.

"That's more like it," Trip commented.

"…Drinking a glass of water 'from the wrong side of the glass'; drinking a glass of water with another's palms against one's ears; drinking a carbonated beverage; gulping down a glass of water while holding one's breath; drinking a glass of water several times successively; eating an ice cube…"

"Aw, we'll never get Malcolm to cooperate with any of those," Travis said, still shaking his head and smiling.

"Then we'll trick him into cooperatin' without knowin'," Trip said resolutely.

"And then there are the respiratory remedies," Hoshi continued unflinchingly. "Breathing slowly and deeply in while thinking 'breathing out' and breathing slowly and fully out while thinking 'breathing in'…"

"But that's crazy!" Trip exclaimed. "Who'd be so nuts as to even think of somethin' like that?"

"…Breathing slowly and deeply in and out through the mouth; holding one's breath while optionally squeezing one's stomach; exhaling all the air from one's lungs and holding one's breath while swallowing water or saliva; blowing up a balloon; inducing sneezing…"

"Hold on, hold on," Trip interrupted her. "My head is like a beehive. Let's start from the beginnin'. That startlin' business," he said vaguely, waving a hand in the air.

Hoshi scrolled up to the beginning of her file. "Being startled or asked a perplexing question," she read.

Travis pulled a face. "Yeah, and how do you suggest we startle Malcolm?" he asked grimly. "This is Lieutenant Reed we're talking about, the man who looks perfectly cool even when we are under attack and everything on the bridge is blowing up. I've watched him, you know. I think he actually enjoys it when things are exploding around him."

"Hmm, there is that," Trip commented thoughtfully. A moment later he lit up. "But you could ask him a perplexing question," he suggested enthusiastically.

"Me? Why me?" Travis replied jerking his head back.

"Look, why _not_ you?" Trip countered. "We all have to do somethin' here. Unless you prefer to stick your thumbs in Malcolm's ears…" he let his voice trail.

"Ok, ok. I'll have a go with the perplexing question," Travis hastened to say. "Now I only have to think of one," he added thoughtfully.

Trip rolled his eyes upwards and sideways in a concentrated expression. "Your problem; can't think of any," he said after a moment.

"I believe we can assume that Malcolm tried a few of the more well-known remedies already," Hoshi said, scrolling down her file. "Let's see, I'd say we can disregard the 'swallowing three times while holding one's breath' and 'drinking from the wrong side of the glass' ones. What else… oh yes, perhaps also the 'drinking a carbonated beverage'."

"So what does that leaves us?" Trip asked.

Hoshi studied her file again. "'Eating particular foods', 'concentration on one's hiccup' and a few of the less known breathing exercises," she replied confidently.

Travis's gaze lit up. "Commander, how about enlisting T'Pol's help for the 'concentration' exercises?" he asked. "With her meditation techniques she seems like the best person for that."

"Good thinkin', Trav," Trip replied optimistically. His enthusiasm waned a little when he thought of the state the lieutenant was in. "Well, I'll have to get Malcolm to take a shower; or T'Pol to take another dose of her nasal stuff," he mumbled to himself.

"Anyway," he added, turning to Hoshi. "You go talk to T'Pol – you know better than I do – and I'll get Chef to prepare some special dessert for Malcolm, something with peanut butter, chocolate, sugar, honey, you know all that stuff. Let's see which of us gets Mal back to normal."

"Provided that's even possible," Travis commented with a grin.

Hoshi smiled. "Aye, aye, Sir," she replied gleefully.

The three conspirators nodded to each other and left, each in pursuit of their own task.

* * *

Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was damn tired of hiccupping. His patience was running thin, not to mention that whatever muscles hiccupping made contract were beginning to hurt. He heaved a deep – and thankfully uninterrupted – sigh and opened his eyes again. He was about to resume servicing the port cannon when he heard someone call him.

"Lieutenant?"

Turning, he saw Travis Mayweather climbing down the rungs to join him.

"Travis," he greeted him without sparkle. "Have you -- finished bridge duty?"

"I'm on lunch break, Sir," Travis replied. "I'm due back on the bridge shortly, and I thought I'd take a few minutes to drop by and see how you are."

"K-- kind of you," Malcolm said. "As you can see, still hiccupping."

"Man, must be terrible," Mayweather commented wincing.

"Not much fun, I must -- admit," Malcolm replied with a sigh. He eyed Mayweather. Travis was a friend and all, but that he should come all the way down into the bowels of the ship just to see if his hiccup was gone… it seemed a bit excessive.

Travis spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. "You surprised us this morning," he said with a nervous grin. "It's not like you to be late for duty, Lieutenant, if I may."

Malcolm decided to ignore the vibes he was getting and turned to his phase cannon again. "Didn't hear the ala-- alarm clock, happens in the best of families," he mumbled.

"Yeah, sure does," Travis agreed, baring his enviably white teeth in a full smile.

"Uhm, Travis, since you're here, would you -- mind holding this while I screw it back on?" Malcolm asked tiredly.

"No problem."

A moment later Malcolm found Mayweather's dark eyes looking intently at him from a disturbingly short distance. "Is anything the mat--ter, Ensign?" Reed asked, puzzled.

"That business with the alarm clock got me thinking," Travis said, commanding attention with the intense tone of his voice. Malcolm stopped working and looked up at him. Travis paused, presumably for dramatic effect; then asked, "Why does an alarm clock 'go off' when it actually 'goes on'?"

Malcolm froze and studied the young man's perfectly serious face. Obviously he hadn't meant this as a joke; in fact he seemed to expect an answer to the crazy question. Good grief, he seemed far too expectant.

"That's the stupidest question I've ever heard, Ensign," he blurted out. "Whatever came into your mind?"

Seconds ticked by in perfect, uninterrupted stillness and silence. Travis's eyes began to twinkle and, to Malcolm's relief, his mouth turned up in a happy grin. Maybe, then, it _was_ meant as a joke after all. Malcolm smiled back to him and Travis's grin turned into a full smile, one that lit up his whole face.

"Stupid in a fu-- funny way," Malcolm corrected, with a chuckle.

The curve of Travis's mouth immediately flipped downwards, causing Malcolm's chuckle to die in his throat. Maybe, then, it really _wasn't_ meant as a joke.

"I mean, it's a non--sensical question," he amended, not knowing what he was expected to say and turning back to his job to avoid looking at Mayweather's disquieting face.

"Yeah. You're right. It is," Travis agreed in what sounded, for some unfathomable reason, like a defeated tone.

There was another long moment of silence, this time interrupted by several _hics_.

"Well, thank you for your help," Malcolm finally said, putting his tools away. "I g-- guess I'll see you later, Ensign," he added, hoping Travis would take the hint and leave.

But the helmsman seemed lost in his own world. Malcolm was about to wave a hand in front of him, when Travis spoke again.

"Lieutenant," he said, looking straight into Malcolm's eyes. "You are Chief of Security, maybe you can answer this." Travis's voice had that creepy tone he used when telling his famous ghost stories. "I wonder…" He made another dramatic pause. "If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?"

This time Malcolm just couldn't stop his mouth from twitching slightly; but Mayweather's expression was unsmiling, actually _concerned_, so he called on his renowned self-control and clamped down hard on the mirth that was ready to explode in his throat. He leaned against the cannon, jolting and studying the young man.

"Travis, are you -- sure _you_ are all right?" he enquired, a touch of concern in his own voice. The man kept asking the craziest things. Not only that, he seemed worried about them. Definitely troublesome.

"Oh, yeah," Travis slurred. "I'm just great."

Malcolm inclined his head, frowning. "Any other perp-- perplexing questions you feel the need to ask me?"

Mayweather's eyes widened, causing Malcolm to review in his mind the words he had just spoken, to double-check if he had said anything strange.

"Ah, no, not really. Well then, we'll see you later, Lieutenant," Travis said, grinning and slowly backing away towards the ladder. "Got to go or I'll be late. Wouldn't want that, not two officers in the same day…"

And with that he climbed out of the cannon housing, disappearing from view. Malcolm stood stunned for another moment; then he shook his head and turned back to his work.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

444

Working in restricted spaces was hard and tiring, and at the end of the day Malcolm was ready for the longest shower and the quietest evening. The sodding hiccup was still pestering him, but he had no intention of seeking Phlox's help, especially after what the doctor had said he would have to do if the problem persisted. He ended up unconscious in sickbay often enough as it was, no need to add a stupid little thing like that to the list of causes.

He rapidly got to his quarters, removed his uniform and stepped into the shower. He stood there for what seemed like forever, letting the water pour directly on top of his head, grateful that the hammering sound overpowered that of his gasping. When he finally opened his eyes again he realised that the small bathroom had turned into a tropical microclimate, and reluctantly reached for the tap to turn the water off.

A few minutes later he was dressed in casual clothes. He sat down heavily on his bed just as his stomach complained loudly. Since the infamous biscuits of that morning he had eaten only a sandwich, which Müller – God bless the man – had kindly and on his own initiative brought to the Armoury, sparing Malcolm an embarrassing appearance in the crowded mess hall. He was wondering if he should dare make a foray there now when he heard the bell ring.

"C-- Come," he called, rolling his eyes at the umpteenth _hic_.

The door swished open and Trip strutted in.

_Who else?_

"Hey, feelin' any better?" he asked.

"Grand," Malcolm ground out. "Got any spare diaph -- phragms in engineering?"

Trip frowned and walked up to sit in Malcolm's desk chair. "Maybe we oughtta let Phlox knock you unconscious," he suggested gravely, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "You've been out so many times, one more really couldn't hurt you."

Malcolm snorted. "It's like saying that you fr-- fried your hands so many times, one more won't hurt you," he commented in outrage.

Trip looked offended. And he sounded it too. "Look, I'm just tryin' to help ya," he said in a thicker-than-usual Southern accent. "Anyway, Loo-tenant, I haven't come here to fight," he added, scowling.

"Well, thank God for that," Malcolm replied huffily, falling back flat on his bed. "I wouldn't have the en--energy to fight right now. I used it all up hiccuppingfor – oh, lovely! – close to -- eleven hours straight," he grunted.

"What you need is a bit of distraction," Trip suggested.

The change in Trip's tone of voice made Malcolm look at him: a warm smile had replaced the frown that had been on his face a moment before. That was one of the aspects of Trip's personality that Malcolm really appreciated – and envied. No matter what happened, you could always count on Trip Tucker to lift your mood.

"And you probably haven't eaten much today," Trip went on, looking pointedly at Malcolm. "I bet that's why you're feelin' so down."

"I had a sandwich in the Armoury," Malcolm said defensively.

"Well, there you go." Trip looked at Malcolm reproachfully. "Besides, it's against regulations eatin' around the ship, Lieutenant," he reprimanded him.

But again the cloud that had come to veil his sunny gaze was gone in an instant. "Come on," he urged, slapping Malcolm's leg. "You can have supper and I… well, there's always a little room for coffee and pecan pie in here," he said, patting his stomach.

Malcolm regarded him silently for a moment. He really was quite hungry. And at this time most of the crew would have already eaten, so the mess hall should be rather empty.

"All ri--ght," he finally agreed, pushing himself up from the bed.

* * *

"How ca-- can you eat all that sugar?" Malcolm commented, grimacing at the sight of the huge portion of pecan pie Trip was putting on his tray.

"Well," Trip replied with a big grin. "Helps me keep my sweet personality goin'. You oughtta try it, you bitter old Brit," he suggested playfully, wagging his eyebrows.

Malcolm shook his head and selected pasta al pesto and a bowl of salad. Carbohydrates to restore his energy levels were what he needed right now.

Suddenly Trip coughed loudly a couple of times and cleared his throat.

"Cho-- choking on the sugar already?" Malcolm teased.

"Ah, no, must've swallowed a fly," Trip replied, quickly moving off to find a table in that stiff funny walk he sometimes used when he felt self-conscious.

Malcolm was about to follow him when an arm clad in white reached out of the serving cabinet and touched him, making him jump with surprise.

"Tenente, ehm, Lieutenant?" a hesitant voice called.

Malcolm bent down and, looking through the opening, found himself face to face with Chef.

"Goodness gra--cious, Chef," he said emphatically. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Ah-ha, I see you've chosen _linguine al pesto_," Chef replied jovially, ignoring his reproving words. "Good choice, Tenente. Give it here, I'll warm it up for you and add a bit of fresh pesto; makes it better." The white-clad arm stretched out of the compartment to reach for Malcolm's plate.

"Oh, no, thank you Chef," Malcolm said pulling back. He so hated to be fussed over. "It's not -- necessary."

"But of course it's necessario, Lieutenant," Chef insisted. "You have that terrible hiccup, lukewarm pasta will only make it worse, credi a me – believe me."

With that Chef leaned out of the cabinet and managed to grab Malcolm's plate. Malcolm turned to Trip, expecting him to be looking impatiently in his direction; but the engineer was sitting with his back to him and at the furthest table. _Hmm…_

A couple of minutes later the captive linguine were returned to him – if truth be told looking much more desirable – together with another plate, on which sat a strange blob that could, if one let his imagination run wild, probably be interpreted as a dessert.

"Here, I made this giusto for you, Lieutenant," Chef said warmly. "When I heard you were not well I told myself, Giuseppe, why don't you whip up something special for Signor Reed?"

Malcolm tried not to look as disconcerted as he felt at the sight of Chef's offering, and forced his mouth into a small smile. "Splendid," he managed, accepting the dire-looking would-be trifle. "-- Thank you, Chef. You shouldn't have gone to any tro-- trouble."

"No trouble at all," Chef exclaimed. "Mangia – eat, before your pasta gets cold again," he urged, waving him off.

Malcolm gave the man another quick little smile and hastened to join Trip.

"Ah, here you are," the engineer said, polishing off the last of his pie. "I was beginnin' to worry, was gonna call security."

"You should have," Malcolm replied studying Trip – something was fishy here. "My pasta was prac--tically abducted by Chef."

But Trip looked like he hadn't heard a word. His eyes were fixed on the unappetising dessert, and his cup of coffee was hovering in mid air, seemingly never to reach its destination.

"What's… _that_?" Trip asked with a wince, waving a finger in the direction of the plate.

"_That_, Commander, is what -- Chef has prepared _giusto_ for me, for poor, hiccupping _Signor_ Reed," Malcolm replied with narrowed eyes. "You wouldn't hap--pen to know anything about it, would you?" he enquired in his Armoury Officer's 'don't-fool-around-with-me' tone.

"What? Me, know about Chef's secret recipes?" Trip asked in outrage. "You gotta be kiddin'."

Malcolm smirked, not at all convinced, and began to eat his pasta, rolling the linguine expertly on his fork under the slightly envious gaze of his friend. Trip was very good with his hands, in fact the best Malcolm had ever seen; but he had yet to master the art of rolling pasta onto a fork – well, not surprisingly, the obstinate man insisted on turning the fork _counter_-clockwise.

Eating without choking while hiccupping was something worthy of a Cambridge or Oxford degree, Malcolm mused; but thankfully he managed to get all of the linguine in his stomach and none up his nose.

Trip had been silently looking on, sipping his coffee, and the fact that the usually loquacious engineer seemed to have lost his tongue was adding to Malcolm's suspicions.

"So… aren't you gonna try that?" Trip suddenly asked, jerking his head in the direction of Malcolm's dessert.

Malcolm studied the blob with a lopsided smirk. He picked up his spoon and warily probed the gelatinous mass with it. "Know your enemy be-- before you attack it," he said darkly.

"I think there's chocolate in there," Trip suggested.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "You don't say!"

He took a spoonful of the stuff and let it trickle back down onto the plate. It had the density of honey and the colour of chocolate. And what in heaven's name was that on the bottom?

"Looks like peanut butter on a spongy cake," Trip said, as if he had read the question in Malcolm's mind.

"Scrum-- scrumptious," Malcolm commented wryly.

Trip bit his lower lip. "Well, you can't let Chef down. I mean, he prepared that _joosto_ for you…"

Malcolm frowned. "Are we absolutely sure I can't?"

"Absolutely," Trip answered, leaving no room for doubt. "You don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Malcolm."

Malcolm heaved a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and took a tiny tasting. Then he took a little larger one, and finally put the whole spoonful in his mouth. He opened his eyes again and saw Trip studying him in concern.

"Well?" the engineer enquired, grimacing.

"It's -- quite deli-- delicious, actually," Malcolm mumbled back with his mouth full. He took another spoonful, closing his eyes once more, this time to concentrate on the flavour.

Trip's eyebrows rose à-la-T'Pol. "It is?" he asked in disbelief.

"Hmm-m," Malcolm confirmed, too busy savouring his dessert to formulate an intelligible answer.

"So _I'd_ be the one eatin' too much sugar, uh?" Trip commented with a grin, leaning back in his chair.

Malcolm shot him a look and scooped up another spoonful. "Care -- to taste it?" he generously offered, turning the spoon towards his friend.

"Very kind of you, but no, thanks," Trip declined. "You need it more than I do," he added with a chuckle.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "Ne-- need what?" he asked doubtfully, turning the spoon towards his own mouth.

"Ah, well…" Trip faltered. "The… energy that sugar will give ya. You know, feelin' tired...?" he left the rest unspoken.

"Uhm," Malcolm acknowledged, nodding as he swallowed another spoonful and scraped the last of his dessert off the plate.

"Chocolate honey; what a brill idea," Malcolm marvelled. "And Chef put something special in the peanut butter, I can't for the life of me tell what, but it blends fan-bloody-tastically in with the rest of the flavours."

He raised his eyes from the now empty plate and saw Trip look at him with a happy grin on his face.

"You know," Malcolm went on cheerfully. "I don't generally go for sweets, except for pineapple cake, but this I could very well eat every day."

Malcolm felt quite well; he had to admit that perhaps a bit of sugar was not a bad thing. He studied his friend. Trip's smile, for some reason, was about to split his face. What was wrong with people today? First Travis cracking jokes with a perfectly straight face, now Trip grinning like a child on Christmas day just because he liked Chef's dessert… Better ignore him, as he had done with Mayweather.

"I must compliment Chef and thank him for his kindness," Malcolm said, shifting his eyes from Trip's mouth to his dancing eyes. "He really went out of his way to…"

Malcolm's voice died away as he saw that his friend was unaccountably getting a bit too happy and excited. Trip was leaning forward in his chair and looked like he had ants in his pants.

"Trip?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

"Are you all right?" Trip merrily echoed.

Malcolm frowned. "Can you be serious for a moment?" he replied with a touch of irritation. "I don't need you to repeat what I just said. Just answer the question: are you all right? You look like you're sitting on dynamite ready to explode."

"I _am_ bein' serious," Trip said with a chuckle. "Alright: I am all right."

Malcolm grimaced. "Is that what you call being serious?"

Trip regarded him with twinkling eyes. "Malcolm, are _you_ all right?" he asked, meaningfully waggling his eyebrows.

"What is this, a riddle of some s…" Malcolm suddenly fell silent and his eyes went wide. "I _am_ all right, aren't I?" he murmured, breaking into a wide smile. "I. am. all. right. My hiccup is gone. My sodding hiccup is… -- … --…"

Trip's face fell and he slumped in his chair. "Oh, no! Not again!"

Malcolm just buried his head in his hands.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

555

Hoshi had not had an easy time convincing T'Pol to help. The Vulcan Commander thought, of course, that it was illogical to offer someone help if he didn't ask for it in the first place. Hoshi had countered that it was illogical to withhold help if someone was able to give it. The impasse had seemed insurmountable until surprisingly T'Pol had conceded that Hoshi's reasoning was acceptable, and that she would help Lieutenant Reed if his problem had not already resolved on its own.

The next obstacle had been convincing T'Pol that she shouldn't tell Malcolm that this was a planned thing; the Vulcan's rational mind couldn't see why it was more likely Lieutenant Reed would accept help if it appeared to be a spontaneous act. How do you explain the intricate Reed feelings to someone who doesn't want to acknowledge emotions?

"Just trust me, Commander, I know Lieutenant Reed," Hoshi had finally told her. T'Pol had raised her eyebrows but said nothing, and Hoshi had taken that as a silent agreement.

So here Hoshi was, in her quarters, pacing and wondering when Trip would tell her if plan B had been successful or not.

"Trip to Hoshi," a flat voice called through the comm. system.

She hurried to answer. "So, did Chef's creation work?" she enquired outright, eager to know.

"Nah, it looked like it had, for a moment, but it didn't," Trip's annoyed voice said. "I already alerted T'Pol; she's on an intercept course right now to implement plan C," he added.

"Well, let's hope she fares better," Hoshi replied with a sigh.

"I wouldn't count on it," Trip commented bleakly. "Somehow I can't picture Malcolm goin' through T'Pol's concentration exercises."

"Why not?" Hoshi asked in surprise. "The man is a master at concentrating. When he gets into something you'd think he's taken leave of his body."

"Yeah, but I can't see him getting' concentrated on anythin' with T'Pol in his quarters," Trip commented, amusement clear in his voice.

Hoshi felt a twinge of…

"Well, you'd better start reviewin' those breathin' remedies," Trip's voice continued, interrupting her musings. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you'll need to execute plan D."

* * *

Malcolm had left Trip and made his desolate way to his quarters, resigned to a hellish night of hiccupping. He was in front of his door, ready to open it, when he saw T'Pol approaching from the opposite direction. "Commander," he acknowledged her, nodding as she came closer.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol said in a tone that made Malcolm turn back to her. "Has your singultus resolved itself?"

"My what?"

"Your singultus," T'Pol repeated calmly.

_Latin, first declination. _Malcolm scanned his brain for those residual notions of the language he was sure were packed away somewhere. _Must have forgotten the access code_, he sighed inwardly.

"I presume you're re-- referring to my hiccup, Commander," he finally replied. "If that's the case, you -- already have your answer," he added bleakly.

"Have you attempted to cure it?" T'Pol enquired, raising her eyebrows.

Malcolm lowered his hand, which was already hovering around the command button of his door. "Uhm, I don't be--lieve in the so-called 'home remedies', like drinking ups-- upside-down and the like," he said with a smirk.

"I agree. Such… cures are mostly ineffective," T'Pol concurred.

"I'll just have to be pa-- patient," Malcolm replied tiredly, raising his hand to the door command again.

"Lieutenant."

T'Pol seemed to be on a mission to prevent him from entering his quarters.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Your case appears to be quite persistent."

_You don't say. You are all so very perspicacious tonight. _

"Ind -- eed. I've been… well, _singulting_ since this morning."

Malcolm raised his hand again, quickly pressed the button, making the door swish open, and took a resolute step inside his quarters, turning to bid his superior officer good night.

"I may be able to be of assistance," T'Pol said, in her flat tone.

Malcolm blinked a couple of times. "Wh-- what kind of assistance?" he asked warily.

"Meditation. It is known to be effective in curing singultus," T'Pol answered, holding her hands behind her back and looking at him with her big, dark brown eyes. "May I come inside your quarters?" she asked as her eyebrows went up again.

"Ah, yes, of course," Malcolm stuttered, caught off balance.

T'Pol crossed the threshold and the door swished closed, and Malcolm was suddenly aware of how small his quarters were. He took a couple of steps back to put a safe distance between himself and the Vulcan lady – _always put some distance between yourself and the opposite sex, especially if beautiful, especially if in your own quarters,_ he reminded himself.

"I'm not, uhm, sure I und-- understand what you have in mind," Malcolm said, feeling terribly self-conscious.

"Singultus often responds to psychosomatic cures centred on relaxation and concentration," T'Pol explained. "I can guide you through a few exercises that may have the desired effect.

Under Malcolm's concerned eyes, T'Pol knelt on the floor, sitting back on her heels.

"Please lower the lights and kneel in front of me, Lieutenant," she requested.

Malcolm swallowed. He felt trapped. This was not going to work, he just knew it. But he didn't want to be impolite with T'Pol by refusing her help, so he cleared his throat and did as asked, dimming the light just a little.

"Now close your eyes, Mr. Reed," T'Pol said, after he had knelt down before her.

Malcolm reluctantly did so. He didn't like keeping his eyes closed when somebody – anybody – was around. His security officer's instincts rebelled and his muscles automatically tensed. He felt as taut as a violin string about to break.

"Now concentrate," T'Pol's monotone voice said. Silence stretched. "Imagine your diaphragm. Can you see it?"

Malcolm paused. "Actually, no, I can't," he answered hesitantly.

"Take a deep breath and shut out any other image. Just see your diaphragm, Lieutenant."

"Begging your pardon, Com--mander, I can't. I don't have the faintest idea of what my – well, any – dia--phragm looks like," Malcolm explained nervously.

They both opened their eyes and looked at each other for a moment. T'Pol raised her eyebrows.

"We shall try a different approach, then," she eventually said. "Close your eyes again." There was a pause. "Imagine air rushing into your lungs. Can you see it?"

A frustrated snort escaped from Malcolm's throat. "Commander, you can't _see_ air."

They opened their eyes again. T'Pol raised her eyebrows even higher.

"Quite logical," she replied after a moment.

Malcolm's face twitched into a faint, uneasy smile.

"Lieutenant, you are too tense. You cannot concentrate if you are not relaxed," T'Pol said, and Malcolm's eyes were inexorably drawn to her full lips forming the words. "Please close your eyes again and relax your body."

With an effort Malcolm raised his gaze from T'Pol's mouth to her eyes. "Well, Commander, ac--tually… I seriously doubt I can re-- relax my body if my eyes are closed," he said, pursing his lips.

"What is the reason, Lieutenant?"

"B-- because of my training. I am trained to be on the alert at all -- times."

"I do not pose any threat, Mr. Reed," T'Pol commented.

"I know that, Commander. My mind knows -- that, but my instincts are honed to anticipate tr-- trouble," Malcolm insisted, wishing she would desist and leave.

"Then I shall help you relax," T'Pol dispassionately replied. "Please disrobe."

Malcolm's eyes went wide. "That… that… is n-- not necessary, T'Pol… Commander," he stammered. "I… it's… definitely not appro-- appropriate, and…"

"Lieutenant," T'Pol interrupted him. "I am going to give you some Vulcan neuropressure," she said matter-of-factly.

Malcolm felt his face go purple at warp speed. "Ah, well, I… I wasn't sug--gesting, I mean… it's just that…"

"Please remove your T-shirt, Lieutenant," T'Pol instructed, calmly interrupting for the second time in a row his senseless babbling.

_Please God, this would be a good time to send some terribly hostile alien species. _

Malcolm closed his gaping mouth and self-consciously wiggled out of his T-shirt, feeling utterly embarrassed, and an idiot for feeling so, and utterly irritated that it was quite plain that he felt so.

"Now close your eyes," T'Pol told him again. "But first please turn around."

Malcolm cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "With all due re--spect, Commander, I will never be relaxed half naked, with my -- eyes closed and my back to someone, in a semi-dark room," he sputtered.

T'Pol looked her usual unfazed self. "You will, when I stimulate your neuro nodes."

"My what?" Malcolm cried out.

"Your neuro nodes. I apply pressure to a spot near your fifth vertebra," T'Pol patiently explained. "Please turn around."

"Oh." Malcolm looked at her for a moment; then turned without a word, wanting this to end as soon as possible.

"I shall now touch your back," T'Pol forewarned him.

T'Pol's hand compressed a spot near his spine and Malcolm was surprised to feel his tension begin to ease out of his body. A feeling of well-being swept over him.

_Hmm, so this is the famous Vulcan neuropressure that Trip has been receiving, the old fox… _

A blaring sound suddenly cut through the silence. 'Red alert, all hands to stations.'

"Bloody Hell!"

Malcolm jumped to his feet and launched himself onto the door.

"Sorry, Com--mander," he called over his shoulder as he triggered it open. "It appears we're ne-- needed on the bridge."

He took a step into the corridor but came to an abrupt halt when he noticed the wide-eyed stares of the crewmen rushing past. He turned and saw T'Pol beside him, holding his T shirt.

"Lieutenant. I believe it would be advisable for you to put this back on."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

666

"Damn, don't ya dare schedule another drill without warnin' me beforehand," Trip ranted as he and Malcolm were walking back to their quarters. "Especially, don't ya dare schedule another drill when I'm off duty and relaxin'. I broke my personal record and almost my neck, runnin' to Engineering."

"If it's any conso--lation, I had forgotten about the drill myself," Malcolm bit back. "And in any case, it isn't such a bad idea to give the crew a -- little surprise from time to time. Keeps them nice and alert."

"At this time of the evenin' I don't _want_ to be 'nice and alert'," Trip replied testily. "Good night, Loo-tenant," he ground out, opening his door and shooting Malcolm an incinerating look over his shoulder.

"Sleep ti-- tight," Malcolm grumbled back. "At least you will be -- able to," he murmured to himself as he continued on his way.

As soon as he was safely inside his quarters Trip went to the comm. link.

"Hosh, are you there?" he paged.

"Yes. _Gawd,_ I wish Malcolm would tell us when he plans his ridiculous drills!" she growled. "He knows how on edge I get when there is an emergency."

"He'd notified the Capt'n, so his conscience is clear," Trip replied peevishly.

"Then you were right," Hoshi said, changing subject abruptly. "T'Pol's 'technique' didn't work."

Her voice held a note of something that Trip thought was as green as Vulcan blood. He grinned inwardly. Malcolm really ought to make a move with Hoshi, he mulled.

"Well, it's all up to you now, Hosh," he replied. "If you fail too, Phlox will have to knock him unconscious."

"I may beat him to it," Hoshi murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Trip asked, not sure he had heard well.

"Nothing. I'll wait until tomorrow morning. Perhaps the night will cure him," Hoshi replied.

"Yeah. I really doubt he'd be in the mood for any of those breathin' exercises right now," Trip chuckled. "Night, Hoshi."

"Night, Trip."

* * *

Hoshi stopped in front of Malcolm's quarters and took a deep breath. She had slept badly and was still quite mad at the man. She had told herself she was angry because of the surprise drill, but if truth be told something else had got on her nerves. It seemed that the entire male population of Enterprise were reduced to total incoherence when they found themselves in proximity of T'Pol, and Malcolm – correction, Lieutenant Reed – was no exception. She had noticed how uptight he got near the Vulcan officer.

She shook her head to dismiss the disquieting thought of a certain lieutenant drooling after T'Pol and raised her hand to the door bell.

A moment later the door swished open and an exhausted-looking and unkempt Malcolm in sweat pants and T-shirt appeared before her, his dark hair tousled. This frail version of the usually pristine and fearless Armoury Officer was so terribly cute that Hoshi's anger immediately dissolved.

"Ho-- Hoshi," he muttered, glancing at his watch. "Is anything the matter?"

Hoshi bit her lips not to smile. "No, Lieutenant," she replied. "Just came by to make sure you had heard the alarm clock."

"Oh, that's -- kind of you." Reed smiled tiredly. "Didn't really need to, though, con--sidering that I haven't slept a wink because of my hiccupping," he added gloomily.

"I'm sorry," Hoshi said sincerely.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"You know," Hoshi added, knitting her brow. "I may be able to help you."

Malcolm smirked. "Hoshi, look… it's not that I don't be-- believe you, but T'Pol said the same thing when she came last -- night and…"

"T'Pol?" Hoshi's frown deepened. "She came to your quarters at night?"

Gosh, it was fun to make Malcolm cringe!

"Uhm, yes, well, just to help me re--lax," Malcolm stuttered, feeling the beginning of a blush when he realised how that could be interpreted. "I mean, to help me concen--trate, _bloody…_ to help me with my hiccup," he tried to explain.

"Well, if you allowed T'Pol to help you, it's only fair that you do the same with me," Hoshi said resolutely. "May I?" she added, taking a step forward.

Malcolm swallowed. "I still have to shower and shave and…"

"This will only take a few minutes," Hoshi replied with an ingratiating smile.

"Well, in that -- case I suppose…" Malcolm trailed, stepping aside and grudgingly letting her in.

"So," Malcolm asked tautly, leaning with his back against the door, which had swished closed, and crossing his arms over his chest. "What is _your_ special -- remedy for my bane?"

"Respiratory exercises," Hoshi replied, turning to face him.

"Like holding my breath?" Malcolm enquired, narrowing his eyes. "That's a w-- waste of time," he said with a snort.

Hoshi had come prepared to having to fight Malcolm's stubbornness. "Oh, no, that's old-fashioned," she agreed, trying to appear casual. "I know of a couple of different exercises that you should try," she said nonchalantly.

Malcolm sighed. "Let's hear them," he challenged, sounding totally sceptical.

"All right. Here is the first one."

Hoshi looked straight into the blue-grey eyes of the obstinate, unyielding, often intractable, self-sufficient and… and… so-damn-lovable-in-his-present-bedraggled-state man before her and felt her knees weaken. She cleared her throat.

"Breathe slowly and deeply in while thinking 'breathing out' and then breathe slowly and fully out while thinking 'breathing in'"," she instructed, pronouncing every word clearly.

Malcolm snorted, shaking his head. "That's ri-- ridiculous; you don't ac-- actually expect me to do that, do you?" he exclaimed.

"Well, you did the exercises that T'Pol suggested!" The frustrated words were out of Hoshi's mouth before she could stop them. She saw Malcolm tilt his head and knit his brow, obviously intrigued by her outburst. "I… I mean," she faltered.

Malcolm's mouth twitched into a half smile. "Really, Hoshi," he said, a glint of amusement crossing his eyes. "I could never do -- that."

Hoshi crossed her own arms in an exasperated gesture.

"No m-- more than I could manage doing T'Pol's con--centration exercises," Malcolm hastened to add.

_Yeah, I bet you couldn't_, Hoshi thought grumpily, _you were too distracted! _But she forced a smile on her face and replied, "All right, I can understand that this exercise might sound a little… strange." She straightened her shoulders, to gain a little confidence. "We'll do the second one, then," she said resolutely.

"And wh-- what might that be?" Malcolm asked, eying her warily.

_Wait and see, Lieutenant. _Hoshi took a few steps towards Malcolm, who immediately uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the door, standing uneasily in front of her.

"Take a deep breath and hold it in," Hoshi instructed.

"I thought we had agreed that this was -- old-fashioned and ineffective," Malcolm complained.

Hoshi shot him a commanding glare. "Take a deep breath and hold it in," she repeated.

Reluctantly, Malcolm inflated his lungs, standing straight and tall.

Hoshi bit her lips. _Come on, Ensign_, she steadied herself, _after all from what you can see he's not armed. _In one swift move she reached out with her hand and pressed on Malcolm's stomach, pinning him against the door.

The reaction was immediate and violent. Malcolm jerked back, expelling all the air in one audible puff, and then doubled forward, banging his head hard against Hoshi's.

Hoshi's vision blurred and she swayed backwards, bringing a hand to her forehead.

"Hoshi!"

She felt Malcolm grab her and pull her to him, and she fell forward. The next thing she knew was that she was in his arms. She looked up, cursing her blurred vision at a moment like this and squinting to make sense of Malcolm's expression.

"Are you all -- right?" he breathed out on top of her.

"Never better," she heard herself murmur back huskily. Gosh, had she actually said that?

"Ah… I'm so -- sorry," Malcolm stuttered a few inches from her face, still without releasing her, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine.

_I'm not._ "Really?" she asked with a nervous giggle.

"I mean, I'm sorry I hit -- you," Malcolm expounded. But he made no move to let her go and she could actually feel his heartbeat through his T-shirt.

They looked at each other in silence, Malcolm seemingly frozen except for his jolting. Hoshi felt irritation chase away the butterflies in her stomach.

_Malcolm Reed, are you going to kiss me or not?_

Well if this stubborn man didn't make a move, she would! Hoshi steeled herself, closed her eyes and raised herself on her tiptoes, bridging the gap between their lips.

Malcolm startled and moaned 'Hosh…', but nothing would stop her now. She felt his breath catch and his muscles tense up. He silently hiccupped against her lips a couple of more times; then held her tighter and leaned into the kiss.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

777

Trip entered the mess hall and scanned the occupied tables. He targeted one in the far right-hand corner and set a course for it.

"Son-of-a-bitch, you did it!" he exclaimed as soon as he was in hearing range. Seeing a few heads turn his way he lowered his voice to a more decent volume and asked, sliding into a chair, "How the hell did you do it, Hoshi? Damn, we all failed!"

"I've been trying to get her to spill the beans for the past fifteen minutes," Travis complained. "But all she says is that her breathing exercises worked just fine."

Hoshi's face had a mischievous smile plastered on it. She played with her food, arranging it in artistic patterns on her plate.

"Well, guys," she finally said, raising twinkling eyes on Trip and Travis. "I'm just too good at what I do, I guess," she teased them.

"Then what's that bump on your forehead?" Trip asked suspiciously.

"Pardon me, is this chair taken?"

The three of them turned as one to the source of the voice that had spoken the words.

Trip broke into one of his sunny smiles. "Hey Malcolm," he said. "Sit down. Must feel good to be running smooth again, uh?"

"You can bloody well say that, it's wonderful," Malcolm said, shaking his head as he took a seat between Trip and Travis and put down his tray. "This morning I was so desperate that I was ready to let Phlox sedate me."

"And so," Travis asked, narrowing his eyes. "What happened? How did your hiccups go away?"

Malcolm froze. He looked unblinkingly into Travis's eyes for a moment; then lowered his gaze and made a show of busying himself with his food. "I did a couple of… breathing exercises," he said noncommittally.

Trip looked at Hoshi. She seemed absorbed in her meal too. Then he studied Malcolm. Then he met Travis's puzzled gaze. "Breathin' exercises, uh?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Maybe later you can show me, just in case I get a bad case of hiccups one day," he suggested.

Malcolm's mouth turned slightly upwards. "If you insist, Commander. But I warn you, these exercises leave you rather… winded, so to speak. And I doubt you'd want _me_ to teach them to you."

Hoshi suddenly snorted and coughed, and Travis hastened to pat her back. "Easy, Hoshi, don't choke on us. We might still need you."

"Oh, I didn't realise it was so late," Hoshi said in a high-pitched voice, bringing a hand to her chest and jumping to her feet. "I promised Crewman Gregory I'd help him with his Klingon. See you later guys." She rushed out of the hall.

"Hey Malcolm," Trip said, shooting a funny glance at him. "Wouldn't your tactical mind say that she beat a strategic retreat?"

Malcolm ignored the probing question. "Let me thank you," he said instead, tilting his head and shifting his gaze between Trip and Travis. "You all really went out of your way to try and help me."

Travis and Trip exchanged a glance. "What do you mean, help you?" Trip asked.

"Oh, come on," Malcolm replied with a snort. "You _were_ quite obvious. Although I must admit that I became suspicious only after Chef's special treat," he added. "The database has a lot of information under the entry for 'hiccup'; and, lo and behold, all the remedies you tried on me are listed there." He regarded them with a smug expression, which quickly disappeared when he noticed the disappointment on his friends' faces. "But I did appreciate your efforts and concern," he hastened to reassert.

"Uh, well… we tried our best," Travis stuttered.

"Indeed, you had me quite perplexed, with your perplexing questions," Malcolm chuckled.

"So… what did Hoshi do?" Trip asked. "Seems to me that the least you can do to thank us is let us in on the secret of her success," he said with a level look at Malcolm.

Malcolm squirmed in his chair. "Well, you see," he said eventually. "You only tried one remedy at a time on me, while she put a few together."

"She cheated!" Trip exclaimed in outrage. "She was supposed to try only breathin' exercises with you!"

"And that still doesn't explain anything," Travis butted in.

Malcolm sighed and leaned conspiratorially forward on the table, imitated by Trip and Travis. "I'm afraid it's classified information," he murmured, looking straight into the others' eyes.

"We won't say a word, scout's honour," Trip promised.

"You were never a scout," Malcolm countered suspiciously.

"Hey, guys!" Travis interrupted them. "Come on, Lieutenant, are you gonna tell us or not?" he pleaded.

Malcolm leaned back again and let the silence stretch. Suddenly he rose to leave, grinning inwardly at the sight of Trip and Travis grimacing in disappointment.

"Well," Trip told Travis. "We'll just have to ask Hoshi to show us those exercises. After all, I can order her," he added resolutely.

Malcolm looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if gauging how serious the engineer was. He decided it was better not to risk it. "All right," he finally yielded. "But only because you are my friends."

Bending down he said in a low voice, "She startled me, took my breath away and rendered me comatose all at the same time."

Trip and Travis looked at him blankly for a moment. Malcolm waggled his eyebrows and turned to go.

"Women!" he heard Trip exclaim as he walked away.

THE END

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